Lovesick
by RochelleRene
Summary: This fic begins just after the famous Huddy moment at the end of S6's "The Choice." It's a one-shot little sexy mushy thing. (I'm gonna trademark that description.)


_**This fic begins just after the famous Huddy moment at the end of S6's "The Choice."**_

[H] [H] [H]

Cuddy sighed, then turned back and looked at him, sitting at his desk with his leg propped on it. _"I just want us to be friends."_

"_Funny. That's the last thing I want us to be."_

Cuddy's breath caught a little and she found it difficult to hold his gaze across the dark office. He was looking at her with such calm intensity, such commitment to what he'd said, that it was unnerving. No quip or idle threat was suitable.

"What do you expect me to say to that?" she finally asked.

House half-grinned. "I don't know what to expect from you anymore. I _want _you to be intrigued." He saw her meet his eyes finally and he took his leg off the desk and leaned forward in his chair. "I _want_ you to be conflicted." She blinked, giving him her best poker face. He stood and walked over to stand in front of her. She raised her face to look up at him. "I _want_ you to be tempted."

They were close enough now that Cuddy could smell him, could sense the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. "We did this, House," she said calmly. "It ran its course and I moved on." House sneered slightly. "You should too," she whispered.

House turned and moved back toward his desk. "You're right," he said, picking up his backpack and tossing a few things in. "I should go find some second-rate version of you and convince myself she satisfies me."

Cuddy stiffened against the door frame. "What the hell does that mean?"

House looked up at her, his face an inscrutable mixture of expressions. "Oh, right. Maybe scruffy man-boys with a thing for puzzles are a type."

"Lucas is not some imitation of you, House."

House pulled his jacket on and looked at her sadly. "Please, Cuddy. He's your analog House. Serves many of the same purposes, but with less intelligence and complexity. Tell me, you ever kick him in the shin just to watch him limp?" Cuddy's eyes were narrowed, which told him he needed to get out of there before he did more damage.

He started walking in her direction, but tried to be clear he was headed for the door, to ignore the tension that still lingered from a moment before. Spontaneously, though, and totally against his frontal cortex's will, he side-stepped the door and grabbed her, wrapping an arm around her waist and putting his free hand against the side of her face. He hesitated for the half-second it took her to gasp and then he kissed her. And this was not an analog kiss; this shit was digital. He pushed her against the blinds in a ridiculously conspicuous way. He ran his nose along her neck, inhaling her. She tilted her head back in bliss and he nipped her chin, her jaw. They kissed again, their chests heaving against each other. But just as quickly, one or the other silently made the decision that they were not going to fuck right here against House's office glass, because the breathing slowed a little, and with that, their brains returned to working order. Their mouths were still touching in places, but they had stopped actively kissing. His hands were still firmly on the back of her head and back of her ass, but they were still.

Slowly House pulled back, stepped away. They both ached for this to continue, but the moment had had leaks, allowing other thoughts and reasons to seep in. "Sorry I couldn't have dinner," House mumbled, and he walked out.

Cuddy was respectful enough to stay trembling in his office and allow him his private elevator ride down.

[H] [H] [H]

Cuddy went home and attempted to segregate her distracted thoughts to the car. In there she imagined all sorts of things, from sex in various ways and places to homes and even weddings. He was thoroughly inside her.

But she opened the front door and tried to shake it off as she greeted Rachel and smelled the aromas of something delicious. She pecked Lucas when he came near, leaning in, smiling and unsuspecting. All through dinner and bedtime, she tried to remind herself why she had chosen this, why Lucas was such a better potential partner than House. But something in her brain was disagreeing and noting how he cooked dinner, but did nothing with the dirty dishes and pots and pans, how he made Rachel laugh, but got her way too riled up right before bed, how he lay on top of Cuddy in the late evening hours, but didn't really take her in. His didn't look in her eyes or taste small parts of her or move slowly, then suddenly quickly. They fell asleep talking about his latest case because she'd forced herself to ask, but the details weren't all that compelling and the overall goal was just to get some lady back $750 she'd lost in a bet. It was just so boring.

Cuddy tossed and turned all night and her fantasies wove into her half-sleep state, causing her to touch herself which she imagined House between her thighs, his fingers dipping inside her. By the morning she was delirious with need, so when Lucas rolled over and physically inquired, she was ready to fuck in a thousand ways just to relieve the tension. But her tension remained; it was over fast and she felt invisible. He stumbled out of bed to get a shower and Cuddy finally indulged, rubbing her fingers against herself, a mental image of House hooking her leg over his shoulder finally bringing her to climax.

When Lucas came out he was surprised to see her still in bed and said so. She hoped he didn't notice that she was flushed. He didn't; he'd have to notice _her_ first. He just agreed to start Rachel's breakfast and left the room. Cuddy imagined what it would be like if House were the actual reason she lay still-shaky in the bed; what it could be like if House's feet were the ones she heard padding down the hall. She went for one more before she finally got her ass up.

[H] [H] [H]

Even though she didn't see House for seventy-two hours, the subsequent days of her life were similar. She couldn't see any of the good parts in Lucas anymore, just how his short-comings pretty much matched what House's would be but were not ameliorated by House's various, ahem, stronger points.

Cuddy tried to talk herself into a Lucas-is-better-than-House state of mind again. She liked that he had more than one friend. She noted that he wasn't a drug addict. She appreciated that he had the ability for empathy, compassion, and other human processes necessary for connection.

Yes. Got it. House is a friendless, drug-addicted sociopath and that was why she could never be with him. It was settled. She'd stay away.

[H] [H] [H]

House looked up from his reading when she entered, then promptly looked back down. Cuddy was happy. His wire-rimmed glasses made her all the more convinced that she was doing what she wanted to do.

"House," she said carefully.

He raised his eyes again, then closed the journal and set it on the desk. "Cuddy," he answered.

"I've been thinking," she began.

"Dangerous work," he cautioned. He'd known her long enough, intimately enough, to tell when she was about to be an idiot.

"You were—somewhat—right. I, um, perhaps, have been hasty in thinking that Lucas is the last man I am going to date."

House narrowed his eyes, studying her. She was controlled and rehearsed. This was not a profession of love or an impetuous jumping into something. She had organized some sort of I-will-not-get-hurt plan for this. "Okay," he replied cautiously.

"So maybe," she came and sat on the edge of his desk. "Maybe we could just… work late… some nights."

House smirked up at her and she smirked back, both imagining briefly what working late would entail. Cuddy arched an eyebrow, sure this was all falling into place as she'd predicted.

But then "I don't want to work late," was his reply. Cuddy furrowed her brow, confused about what he meant. House leaned back in his chair. "If I correctly understand your metaphor, Cuddy, then I'm a workaholic. I wanna work in the morning and the afternoon too." Cuddy's eyebrow returned to its position, as she saw this as more flirtation.

"You know, work needs to be done at lots of different times, House."

He stood up and walked to the window behind him before turning back to face her, perched delicately on his desk. He smiled a sad, rueful smile at her. "I don't like other people touching my work." Cuddy's face fell as she made sense of him. He wasn't going to go for this. House laughed a little, gentle and light. "Come on, Cuddy. This isn't even you."

She jutted her jaw out a little. "What do you know about what's me," she said defiantly.

He smiled broadly now, at the craziness of it all. She was so confused at the time when he was finally so sure. "I know that I can't have just a little of anything, but especially you." She looked at him, her glare fading. "And I know you make all the right choices, except with me." They stared at each other for a few moments. Then House sighed heavily. "Look, I don't know if you've got a good thing going or a bad thing going, but for whatever reason, you're ready to look at me again. Ready enough to give me some half-ass overture." He smirked and she got feisty again.

"It's not half-assed. You don't wanna be friends, I don't want to lose you in my life, so this is what I'm capable of right now," she puffed.

House stepped right up to her, against her knees. He placed a hand on her peek of bare thigh and ran his thumb back and forth along the inside. "_I'm_ not capable of doing that," he told her, low and gruff. "I'm not capable of touching you…" He placed a hand next to her on the desk and leaned in close, "Or tasting you…" Their eyes met and Cuddy felt that tremble returning. House stood up again. "Or having less than all of you." He took a step back. "And you aren't either. _That's_ what I know about you."

Chase suddenly entered and proclaimed, "Labs are back. His fever's still 105 but his white counts are normal, which is... weird." He gave the briefest of glances to Cuddy then back to House as he walked through the door to the team room, where Taub and Foreman had just entered.

House had been frowning at Chase but now looked back at Cuddy. "Sorry. Puzzles beat unrequited romances any day." But he didn't move.

"There's no guarantee," Cuddy muttered.

House gently tilted his cane back and forth from one hand to the other, trying to seem casual for the onlookers. "About what?" he asked, low and quiet, signaling her to speak similarly.

She snapped out of her reverie and realized they had lost their privacy. "That it will work."

House grinned. "You know me. It may seem crazy, but it usually works."

Cuddy raised an eyebrow at him. "I'd say you have a fifty-fifty record at best." She was teasing him now, back to their groove. She stood up and turned to leave but he caught her elbow.

"When it doesn't work, Cuddy, I always find another way. I find something that works." Cuddy nodded stoically and turned again. House called after her. "My idea's better than your idea!" he yelled and he saw her laugh. "Yours was insane!"

[H] [H] [H]

Cuddy was working late—actually working late—in her office later that day when House came in.

"I decided to come in here so the janitors don't have to spend so long cleaning my office glass."

Cuddy grinned, but then grew serious. "House, I think we just need some time apart. Let's just limit ourselves to hospital stuff for a few weeks okay?"

House dropped in a chair and nodded obediently. "Deal. But I forget… Is 'hospital stuff' strictly over the clothes or only above the waist?" Cuddy glared at him. "Oh, come on, Cuddy. You're just on tactic number three for dealing with this, and it's only a matter of time before you realize that won't work either."

"But you have it all figured out, huh?" she asked, flipping through a series of forms and signing in various places.

"It's simple, really," House answered. "You come knock on my door, in some sort of red lace ensemble…" Cuddy looked up at him with amused disgust. "Wait. Rewind. You get a _babysitter, _then come knock on my door." He grinned at his own joke while he watched her work. He watched the way she periodically cracked her neck slightly, to relieve her tension. He saw a few gray hairs from the direct shine of her desk lamp. He knew she needed a manicure appointment because she had a hangnail on her pinky and hated those. He knew she was actually doing the mental math involved to check over the form she was signing. He knew that she was tired. He knew that he loved her. And he knew he could wait.

"I'm gonna go," he told her. "You need anything?" Cuddy just snorted at the irony. House stood. "Wilson and I are monster trucking Friday, so that would _not_ be a good day for the whole red lace thing. Just wanted you to know in case you got to scheduling."

Cuddy looked up, her eyes tired but twinkling at him. "Thanks, House."

As he looked at her and thought about all he knew, about life and about this woman, he finally felt like he had the right thing to say. "You know how I make those calls? The one-in-a-million crazy-disease crazy-treatment decisions?"

Cuddy looked genuinely interested. "How?"

"You usually can't rule out everything else. Who knows? Maybe the guy huffed paint and failed to mention it. Or maybe one symptom really is just a coincidence. But I stare at that white board until it gets in my head. And I think about it constantly, even when I do other things. And eventually I see what the answer is, even if it's rare. Even if it's so rare it's crazy. But it comes from accepting what's happening right in front of us."

Cuddy smiled. "And then you cut into his brain."

House nodded seriously. "And then I cut into his brain." He turned and walked out.

[H] [H] [H]

Four weeks. House decided to respect Cuddy's request that they essentially avoid each other, and they hadn't had a non-patient conversation in four weeks. Luckily Wilson had been in the middle of it all enough to assure them both this was just Cuddy getting the distance she'd requested, and no permanent harm had been done. House even found out from Wilson that she and Lucas had broken up. Still, he hadn't teased her about her ass, she hadn't jerked him around about some report, and they hadn't eaten lunch together with Wilson in four weeks. It felt…

House drinking alone in front of the TV; that's how it felt. He didn't get knocks at the door often, but things had been approaching a tipping point with Cuddy so over that month he kept hoping any knock was her, with or without the red lace.

She never knocked. But she did call one night and said she had a difficult case brought to her and could use his help. He was awaiting stats and symptoms over the phone, but she asked if he could come over instead. "What are you wearing?" he asked, searching for his shoes, jacket, and cane.

"Clothes," she replied evenly and he could almost hear her roll her eyes.

"It'll take me at least ten minutes. Plenty of time to remedy that." The four weeks of no flirting were dammed up behind something, and now that she'd invited him over he couldn't stop.

He drove recklessly to get to Cuddy's, suddenly sure this was his way back in to friendship. Sure, sure, she needed his medical opinion, but she couldn't let him in her home and ban him from talking to her.

When he knocked on the door, Cuddy opened it wearing jeans and a tee shirt. She looked nervous. "You okay?" he asked, coming in slowly, frowning while he studied her. "What's wrong?"

Cuddy forced herself to smile. "Nothing," she said.

"The case?" House asked, shrugging his jacket off. "You know the person?"

Cuddy laughed weirdly. "Yeah. Yeah, I know the person."

They stood there staring at each other in the foyer. House finally asked. "If I was gonna telepathically read the information from your brain, Cuddy, I could have stayed in my underwear at home." Cuddy looked confused and flustered. "You have a file?" House held out his hand expectantly.

"Everything's, um… I brought a whiteboard home. Everything's written on the whiteboard. It's in the living room," she gestured.

House frowned at her a moment longer, disappointed that her bizarre behavior was killing the buzz he'd had at the thought of flirting with her tonight. He went over to the whiteboard and read it over.

_I have a history with him, which I think of fondly._

_I respect him for his work and his life, even when I disagree with him._

_I enjoy him, when I don't want to punch him. And even then._

_I believe in his ability to change and grow, however reluctantly._

_I trust him with all the important stuff._

_I want him, near me, on me, in me, all over me._

_I need him in my life, in some way, at all times._

Cuddy wandered in, trying to act nonchalant but her hands were shaking. "So these are just the presenting symptoms," she explained, leaning in the doorway. "There may be more after some tests are run. But thus far, you know, I'm thinking…" She stared at him and he had trouble taking his eyes off the board to look at her because he didn't want to have misunderstood something.

"You're thinking?" he asked.

"I'm thinking it's love."

House nodded solemnly. "I was pretty sure of that from day one," he agreed. Cuddy smiled a little. "But you waited a hell of a long time to treat," he warned. Cuddy looked wary. "You and your cautious nature. That's why they put you behind a desk."

Cuddy was unreadable because she didn't know if he was just teasing or trying to tell her something. He stepped toward her. "It's okay, Doctor," he reassured. "We're just gonna have to get aggressive." He smiled as he closed the rest of the distance between them and bent to kiss her. Cuddy wrapped her arms around his neck and let his mouth envelop hers with abandon finally. She didn't feel guilty; she didn't feel torn; and she didn't feel invisible.

She turned and pulled his hand to lead him down the hall toward the bedroom, but House didn't budge. When she looked back over her shoulder at him, he was smirking at her. "I said aggressive," he stated sternly. "We need to have sex in every room of this house in the next 48 hours." Cuddy smiled and started laughing. "Does it have a basement?" House asked. He yanked her arm, pulling her back against him, and they fumbled their way to a sofa. Cuddy shoved his chest and he pretended that was what caused him to flop back on the cushions, welcoming her body as it climbed on top of his. Her thighs tensed and squeezed against his. Cuddy began unbuttoning his shirt and he yanked hers over her head, revealing her perfect, round breasts held within a red lace bra.

House was delighted. "I knew you'd remember," he teased.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Cuddy said smoothly.

"Just a coincidence?"

"Look, I just invited you over for a consult."

House started opening her jeans and found red lace peeking out from the zipper. He groaned, smiled, and flopped his head back against a pillow. "I can't take you."

"Oh no!" she whined. "Treatment's too aggressive for you? Making you hurt in places you didn't know you had? Maybe now you'll have sympathy for those poor people."

House sat up abruptly and held Cuddy at the hips. "You're right. From now on, I'll just prescribe lap dances from the Dean of Medicine. Get their blood flowing again." Cuddy laughed and House stood her up in front of him. He looked up at her and met her eyes, shadowed by her long dark hair tumbling forward. Then he pressed his face against her stomach, his hands sliding gently along her waist. He kissed down her stomach and started lowering her jeans when he got to the panties, kissing his way down one thigh, then up the other. When Cuddy stepped out of her jeans he guided her to lie on the couch, where she swore he kissed, licked, or nipped at every square inch of her. She felt him everywhere and she was high from his attentions. She started saying crazy things with his name in them—"God, my, House, it's yeah."—and he murmured replies as if she were making perfect sense.

Somewhere along the line—maybe when he'd removed her bra and held her breasts in both hands, licking and sucking them while his pelvis pushed again hers—it crossed from intense pleasure into intense need, however, and the man still had a tee and jeans on. She started reaching down to open his pants and he clicked his tongue at her in disapproval. He slid down her body, peeled her panties from her hips, and pressed his mouth against her with such precision, such perfect pressure, that her initial sigh of relief easily swooped into a subsequent cry of eagerness, begging him for more of this, to take her all the way. House pushed her thighs open until Cuddy had a leg propped on the sofa back and one sprawled on the floor. His mouth tasted and teased her, and when he circled around her clit, not quite touching where she wanted to be touched, she finally screamed in delicious frustration and ordered him to get her off. He promptly did, his own physical tension skyrocketing when he heard her cry his name and "please" and, oh, that other guy—"God." He kept his mouth right where it was, doing exactly what she wanted, until she was satisfied and pushed him away gently. She lay there breathing heavily, naked and gorgeous, and he had to remind himself that this was really happening. "Hey," he said quietly. "I think it's contagious." She looked at him sleepy, sated, and smiling. "I think I got what you got." He bent and kissed her knee lightly.

Cuddy smiled and closed her eyes. "Gimme a few more minutes to not be cross-eyed and I'll cure you," she teased.

House laughed a little, then squeezed in along the back of the couch to lie alongside her. He ran a finger from hip to hip. He watched her face. "I don't think there's any curing me," he murmured quietly. "This 'love' thing's a monster." He ran the tip of his nose down her cheek, feeling her softness. "I think I'm a goner." Frustrated as he was, he was lulled by her against him and almost felt sleepy when suddenly Cuddy sat up, pushed him down, and was on top of him.

"Well, at least we can make you comfortable," she said as she pulled off his jeans, then his underwear. She yanked at the hem of his tee shirt to get him to sit up for its removal.

"Hey, man, that's vintage," House complained about her roughness.

Cuddy smiled wickedly and looked his naked body up and down. "The shirt or you?"

"Nice."

Cuddy laughed and fell on top of him. "For me, you're retro." She kissed his neck. "I remember this," she said against his skin. She slid her face down his chest and belly. "I remember this." House was laughing, but loving the feeling of her hand sliding along the sides of his body, her tiny fingers dancing along his skin. "Oh and who could forget this classic?" she said theatrically right before he felt her mouth wrap all around him. It went from amusing to mind-blowing. Her tongue ran along the length of him and he shivered with the sensation. She continued, so slowly, to take him into her mouth, then slide him out. House felt that, basically, put a Vicodin on his tongue and he'd believe in heaven. He basked in the sensation, folding his fingers around hers when she found his hand and just riding these waves of pleasure wherever they were taking him. A little twist or flick of something would cause him to groan with pleasure and Cuddy would then repeat it until he had to think about diseases or monster trucks and then she'd change it up again.

Cuddy started to focus, to speed up and get more deliberate, chasing his orgasm. And as much as he wanted that, he wanted something else more. So he stopped her, repeatedly bashing the back of his head against the couch even as he did so, and pulled her up to straddle him. "Not good enough?" she teased, even as she lifted her hips to let him find his way to her entrance.

"Very effective," he said between labored breaths. "We're just going broad spectrum."

When he entered her his moan of relief bordered on obnoxious, but Cuddy could barely hear it above her own. They had been waiting so long, building up for so long, to this. They barely moved at first, simply reveling in the feeling of being this close. They rocked gently and felt each other's bodies and when Cuddy fell to her hands over him he kissed whatever was in reach. But things changed. When he scooted up to capture her breast in his mouth, Cuddy started to writhe. His tongue flicked over her nipple and she took all that tension into the lift and swivel and rock of her hips against his. She was holding his head in her arms, moaning his name, telling him how good he felt. When he switched breasts she was done and began riding him with abandon, tightening around him and pushing down with delight. He eventually had no choice but to release her, lie back, and feel it. Cuddy's hands were on his belly when she came, and her intensity and cries of announcement to him that she was coming took him to the peak and then he fell, her hips in his hands and her name on his lips.

They slowly came back to earth, limbs splayed across the couch, House with a corner of a blanket hanging off the side of his head. Cuddy lay down on top of him, listening to his heart thudding in his chest. He tickled her back until she slid down to curl against his side. They lay in sleepy silence, touching fingers, running toes along legs, and occasionally kissing.

"Do you think we'll ever recover?" she asked him, nuzzling his shoulder while he lay there, stunned.

"Nope."

"So it's a terminal illness?" she chuckled.

"Not terminal," he corrected. "Chronic. As in long in duration."

"Not likely to terminate."

"Habitual."

"Recurring frequently," she giggled, shaking him a little.

"Gimme ten minutes. I'm vintage."


End file.
